Abandon
by blueowls
Summary: Prompt. Santana x Brittany. //Santana’s used to handling big, scary white guys—-hello, Lima—-but the two exceptions to that have always been Quinn and Brittany’s dads.//


**Author Note:** This was for a prompt where Brittany comes out to her parents, and they're not cool Dutch hippies about it.

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing.

**Abandon**

Santana remembers what this is like because she had just gone through it only two months ago, but she was blessed with forward-thinking parents and a lax religious upbringing. Brittany's not so lucky. Turns out there's a good chunk of the Dutch who buy hash brownies in coffee shops and use bikes more than their cars, but there's a portion of them (reformed Calvinists or strict Protestants or _something_ like that, because Santana had been too distracted by Brittany laying her head on her shoulder and absentmindedly doodling across her whole page of notes that day in history to actually pay attention) that think and behave just like Quinn's parents, only worse.

There's a lot of shouting in some language Santana can't even begin to comprehend, and Brittany, usually so calm, is trembling on the couch next to her. Santana's eyes fall to the carpet, away from the hateful, accusatory glares of Brittany's parents, studying the smudged white tips of her tennis shoes as she squeezes Brittany's hand silently, shifting slightly so that their knees graze.

Brittany's grip is loose, but when she reaches up to her face and brings Santana's hand with hers, it's only then, feeling hot dampness on a finger, does Santana realize Brittany's not angry. She's crying.

Santana's used to handling big, scary white guys—_hello_, Lima—but the two exceptions to that have always been Quinn and Brittany's dads, because with Quinn's dad, her not being white and Protestant was near the top of the long list of things he didn't approve of about her—she's grateful his dismissive, pigheaded ignorance kept him from wanting to know any more about her—and with Brittany's dad, it's the language and the fact that he talks really, really loud. And right now, he's pissed and yelling.

Santana decides that this has all gone downhill with no real hope of recovery and stands smoothly, tugging Brittany up after her easily enough, and feels a brief flicker of camaraderie with Finn even though they've never been close or even really talked to each other outside of glee or the occasional football game after-party, because confronting angry parents is almost as scary as getting screamed at by Coach Sylvester.

"Let's go," she whispers, and of course it's not her choice, but it's all Brittany needs because she nods and moves and is leading Santana out of the room and running a hand roughly over her cheek, catching a lingering tear and wiping it away as her dad shouts something that Santana assumes means neither of them are allowed back.

Brittany sobers up on the ride home, and they take a moment to steel themselves on the front steps before they slip into Santana's house. Santana's whole family is sitting at the dinner table, loud and rowdy until her mother sees her and Brittany standing in the doorway to the kitchen holding hands and the whole room goes quiet, one of her brothers flicking the other into a sullen silence when he doesn't shut up fast enough.

If it's a lot to take in so suddenly—which it isn't, because it doesn't matter if Brittany's a girl or here in their house for _this_ reason as long as Santana's happy and they're both okay—then her mother doesn't show it.

"Do you need anything?" she offers. Santana's dad just looks sad and her brothers look confused, so Santana shakes her head and feels the pressing, almost guilty weight of her own good fortune turn her stomach, motioning up weakly with her free hand and twining her and Brittany's fingers together more tightly.

"I think we're just going to go upstairs," Santana says, and her mother nods. Brittany thanks them quietly before they head to Santana's room, the old keep-the-bedroom-door-open-when-Brittany's-here rule no longer an issue. Even if it were still valid, it's not like her parents are going to walk in on anything. At least, not tonight.

Santana leans back against the door after it closes, sliding down to the floor as Brittany drops gracefully down next to her, cross-legged and serene. Santana doesn't understand why she's the only one who's exhausted, considering Brittany cried for ten minutes straight in her car, but then again, once Brittany stopped, she blew her nose and was unsurprisingly zen the rest of the way home while Santana's still struggling to figure out how this is all going to work. She sighs loudly as she droops against Brittany, head on her shoulder and reaching for her hand.

"It's okay," she says aloud, although she knows she does a terrible job of sounding convincing because her voice kind of cracks at the end. It gets a weak laugh from Brittany, though, so whatever, and she clears her throat pointedly before she tries again. "I mean, it's going to be okay."

"I know," Brittany says quietly. She pauses, and Santana groans internally because she can almost _see_ Brittany grinning like a fool before there's an elbow digging into her ribs playfully and Brittany's head tilts against her own. "I have you."

It's sickeningly sweet and _so_ cliché, but Santana smiles anyway.


End file.
